


I Want to Tell you

by lacqueluster (GG_and_MM)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Job, Completely Inappropriate Frozen References, F/M, Hunters Doing Hunter Stuff, Masturbation, Pining, Reader is a Bad-Ass Hunter Chick, Slow Burn, explicit - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-07-11 00:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7017838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GG_and_MM/pseuds/lacqueluster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can’t tell her when she’s drunk. That wouldn’t be right. He’ll tell her tomorrow. He’ll bring her coffee and let her shower and then he’ll sit her down. Tomorrow. It’s definitely time. He has to get this off his chest and tomorrow is the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Gabe's Girl (Lacqueluster); Beta by Miss Moose
> 
> Title from the Beatles song - I Want to Tell You

I want to tell you  
My head is filled with things to say  
When you're here  
All those words they seem to slip away  


When I get near you  
The games begin to drag me down  
It's all right  
I'll make you maybe next time around  


But if I seem to act unkind  
It's only me, it's not my mind  
That is confusing things  


I want to tell you  
I feel hung up and I don't know why  
I don't mind  
I could wait forever, I've got time  


Sometimes I wish I knew you well  
Then I could speak my mind and tell  
Maybe you'd understand  


***************************************  
He's standing outside her door, his arm raised to knock. He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t bother her. She’s probably busy. She doesn’t want him hanging around.

Right? She wouldn’t want that. Why would she? She’s a perfectly normal human, why would she want to hang out with an archangel who’s older than time?

Well, she’s not _perfectly_ normal. She’s a hunter after all, but still. She’s more normal than he is. And she never pays much attention to him. So why is he standing here with his arm raised like an idiot? He imagines her looking through the peephole of the door wondering with the fuck he’s doing.

And suddenly the door swings inward interrupting his thoughts.

She visibly jumps. “What the-- Gabriel? What are you doing?”

“I was about to knock,” he lowers his arm. “What are you doing?”

“I'm going to get ice,” she holds up a bucket.

He takes it from her hand and snaps his fingers, THEN hands it back overflowing with ice.

She looks back and forth down the hall. “You should be careful; someone might see you do that.” 

He shrugs.

“Come on, get in here,” she leaves the door standing open as she walks back into the room. “You don't have to knock. Unless I'm in the bathroom, then knock. But otherwise I'm always dressed, just in case. Always ready to move, that's the life of a hunter.” 

“You might regret telling me that, you just gave me an open invitation.” He clicks the door shut behind him. “What are you doing on this fine evening?” 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Big plans. The Breakfast Club is coming on; I plan on losing myself in teenage angst for the next two hours.” She flops down on the bed.

“Ah, yes. John Hughes, the master of teenage angst.” He sits on the other bed and throws his feet up.

“You know John Hughes?”

“Sure. I was alive in the 80’s. Anyone who lived through the 80’s knows John Hughes. Except Cas. I doubt Cas does.” 

She smiles, laughing a little. 

As a rule he likes making people laugh. It's kinda his thing, always finding the humor, keeping things light, getting the laugh. But her laugh is addicting. He thinks about it too much. 

“You're nothing like what I imagined Angels would be.” 

“Hmm?” She somehow manages to cut his IQ by a hundred points just by being in her presence. He always feels like a dunce, lost in his thoughts about her, in his daydreams where she's the star.

“I said you're not what I thought Angels would be.”

“Oh. Yeah, I get that a lot.” He looks around the room. “So you're about to watch a movie and you have no snacks? What kind of person are you?”

“A lazy one. I didn't feel like going anywhere.” 

“Lucky for you, you've got me.” He snaps his fingers and her bed is covered in candy. All kinds of candy. 

“Holy shit,” she stands up to take it all in. “You aren't kidding around; you're pretty damn serious about your snacks aren't you?”

“You have no idea.” He grabs a pack of Skittles and tears them open. “Taste the rainbow,” he winks at her.

“Hey, is that the only pack? Those are my favorite!”

He knew that, he's seen her buy them more than once. He's not a creepy stalker though. Nope. Now way. He's just _observant._ Like how she eats them in order by color. Yellow, green, purple, then red or orange. Sometimes she mixes those last two up. He figures those are her favorite, she saves them for last. 

He snaps her up a huge bag and she grins. 

“What’s your favorite color?” He asks, trying to sound uninterested. 

“Red or orange, depending on the day.”

He nods, looking at the TV. He knew he was right.

They settle onto their separate beds as the movie starts. He tries to talk at one point, wondering which guy she would have gone after in high school.

“So what kinda girl are you? Which--” 

She hushes him. “Shh! I hate when people talk during movies. Unless something's on fire, zip your lip.”

He tosses candy into his mouth as he looks back at Molly Ringwald. He always liked Allison. The quirky chick in all black that dumps Pixie Sticks all over her sandwich. That's his kinda gal.

They hear it about the time John Bender is shooting hoops in the gymnasium. He's wearing one boot and one sneaker and he's dunking the ball as Mr. Vernon walks in.

She goes still and cocks her head, muting the TV. 

“Is that…?” She turns her head again. “Is that what I think it is?”

“I don't know what you think it is but I'd say it's pretty unmistakable.” 

The moans are loud. Getting louder. Someone is enjoying himself. Nope, two people. She's enjoying herself now too. 

The sound has an almost immediate effect on Gabriel. He sits up on the bed and puts his back to the wall, pulling his legs up to his chest. Can't see the tent starting in his pants that way. 

He doesn't want to leave but looking at her and hearing those sounds? It's like watching porn with someone you're really attracted to but you're not allowed to touch. 

So, it’s torture. Or pretty comparable to torture, basically. 

“My god. They're really getting into it,” she looks at him and laughs, but it’s a little forced. 

“Sounds like they’re having a good time, yeah.” He smiles, feeling weird. He shouldn’t feel weird, she’s not acting weird. Plus he’s done porn, what does he have to feel uncomfortable about? Nothing. He should just ignore it like she is.

She unmutes the TV and tries to pay attention to the movie again. 

It’s impossible. The sounds are too distracting. Every so often they stop and Gabriel prays it’s over, but no. It starts up again. 

Someone bangs on the door and she looks relieved at the break in tension. 

She hops up and pulls the door open. 

“Hey, you hungry?” Dean pushes past her without being invited inside. He sees Gabriel on the bed and gives him a cocky smirk. And then he spies the candy. “Damn, did the candyman give you the hook up or what?” He grabs a handful of M&M’s and tosses them into his mouth. 

“Yep,” she lays on the bed, “And no, I’m not hungry. Skittles for dinner are the best.”

The moaning starts back up.

“Geez, every time I think they’re done it starts up again,” she rolls her eyes.

“He’s switching positions,” Dean says around a mouth of chocolate, “that’s what I’d be doing anyway.”

Gabriel nods his agreement, feeling extremely awkward. 

She seems to think this over, her eyes drifting away. “Oh…”

Gabriel wants to leave but he can't think of an excuse. He doesn't want to just snap away without explanation. He doesn't want her to think he's weird. He _is_ weird but he doesn't want her to know it.

The headboard starts banging in rhythm. 

“Man, he’s really gettin’ in there now,” Dean mutters.

Gabriel _really_ doesn’t want to be in the room with her and listen to this any longer. Never mind Dean, he could fuck her brains out right now while Dean watched. He wouldn’t care. 

Sam wanders in through the still open door. 

“We eating or what?” He looks over the bed full of candy and then surveys the room. They’re all listening to the couple. “Dang, it’s louder in here. The headboard must be against your wall.”

Dean walks to the adjoining wall. “He’s had long enough; this dude must be on Viagra or something.” He bangs his fist and screams loudly. “HEY! KNOCK IT OFF IN THERE!”

She snorts when the sounds cease instantly. 

“You better eat something,” Gabriel says suddenly. His brain is working about 12 steps behind but he’s finally figured his way out. Just fit the dunce cap on him like it's a crown.

“What?” She looks at him like she’s lost.

“You better go eat. Food, I mean. All that candy will give you a stomach ache.”

“Look who’s talking,” Dean says as he chews something gummy. 

“Oh, yeah. I might eat something little. You coming?” she asks Gabriel and she stands and Sam and Dean wander through the open door.

“Nah, I’ll catch ya later.”

She doesn’t miss a beat; she just pulls a hooded sweatshirt over her head and nods. 

“Ok, see ya.” She shuts the door behind her.

And then he’s alone in her room, with all her things. Everything that’s her, all her possessions. The things she has and holds onto. 

He wanders around, touching her jacket hanging on the back of a chair. His fingers brush over the keys to her truck where she tossed them on the table. He moves into the bathroom and smells her shampoo and then her lotion. He picks up her brush and runs his thumb over the bristles.

He thinks about how they met. The very first time he’d seen her. 

It was chance that he was there at all, just a random hunt that he happened to be on because he was bored. He was always bored, so sometimes he’d entertain himself on a hunt with Cas or the Winchesters. 

She'd saved their asses, catching the break in a devil's trap just in time. 

She'd stumbled in, gun drawn and a demon blade tucked into her boot. He'd known about the knife because when she'd seen his grace streaming from his eyes when he smote the demon, she'd pulled the blade and pinned him to the wall, demanding to know what he was.

“I’m an angel, sweetheart. And archangel to be exact.” He’d winked at her, letting her press herself up against him to hold him in place. “You can call me Gabriel.”

Her face was absolutely priceless. Her mouth hanging open, her eyes round and wide. He could see her pink tongue. That little flash of pink made his mind go crazy. He'd had to fight not to get aroused. 

_Not appropriate right now,_ he chastised himself. 

She looked like she stepped out of a superhero movie. 

She took a step back and looked down at the knife in her hand, then back up at him. She closed her mouth with a click of her teeth and a furrow of her brow.

“Cut that shit out,” she snapped. 

Why did she suddenly seem angry? What had he done?

“Cut what out?” he'd asked, truly clueless as to what had offended her.

“Sweetheart, honey, baby, don't call me that shit. I don't know you and I don't find it cute.”

Dean had laughed hysterically.

Gabriel had instantly felt like an idiot. And his interest in her grew tenfold.

The Winchesters had been less than thankful for her “interference” in their hunt. They didn’t even know her name and they were bitching and moaning that they’d have caught that break in the devil’s trap if she hadn’t gotten in the way. 

She'd given them an earful about their ungratefulness. They'd parted ways and he assumed that was it. He'd never see the pretty hunter again.

But randomly, the next time they encountered her, Gabriel was with them. They saved _her_ ass that time, to which she chewed them up one side and down the other for their interference. 

They kept crossing paths over the months, and she grew more and more friendly with Sam and Dean. To the point where they actually started calling each other and asking for help or advice. And Gabriel started hanging around more in hopes of seeing her.

She's capable. She's confident and intelligent, she learns quickly, always reading and researching. 

And those things are great. They're admirable qualities. But he's known thousands of people like that. So what is it about _her_? He doesn’t understand why he can’t forget her. It’s like she’s under his skin. She’s wiggled her way into his brain (well, technically he doesn’t have a brain, but whatever.) 

He snaps himself out of her room, away from her personal things. That was weird, to go through her private things. He’s weird about her and he knows it. He needs to stop. Quit thinking about her all the time. But ever since he met her, he just _can’t._ And it’s getting worse. 

He resolves to stop. To leave her alone. To move on and let it go. He's done with it, with her. He's not going back for a month, that should give him time to get over it, whatever _it_ is.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She’s so close. There's just inches between them. 

He can smell her, the scent of her shampoo and a little bit of sweat mixing together. You wouldn’t think that would smell good but you’d be wrong. So wrong. 

She’s in front of him, facing away. She turns her head, talking to him over her shoulder. Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

He watches her mouth.

“Stay close; remember what Sam and Dean said. We need to stay in contact; it’s the only way to know for sure that the Shapeshifter isn’t impersonating us.”

He nods dumbly. He can't think, she's too close. “I remember.” 

That was inane. He should have said something smart or funny, anything besides that.

He hadn't lasted a month. He'd barely made it over a week without popping in on their hunt. He told himself it was fine, he's not hung up on her, no way. He's just bored. 

That's his story and he's sticking to it.

So he’d appeared on the scene as they were gearing up. None of them asked where he'd been, none of them even missed a beat.

Dean had pointed at him. “You stay close to her.” 

“Can do, Deano. What are we hunting?” He'd crossed his arms, tried to act nonchalant. He glanced at her, she was loading a gun.

“Shapeshifter,” Sam says as he hands Dean a knife. 

“Oh fun. I love hunting things that can look like anyone or anything. Good times.” 

She smirked. He saw her.

“Just shut up and stay close to her,” Dean muttered. He and Sam strode away.

And so he does, the closest he's ever been, actually. And it seems to be short circuiting his brain. 

“Come on,” her head faces forward again and she starts to move away. 

He can’t move; something about her being so close has him frozen in place. What the hell is wrong with him? 

She’s moving slowly, barely inching along as they approach a corner. She glances back and huffs in irritation. There’s barely a foot between them, she hasn’t moved very far. She reaches her hand back and grabs at his shirt, tugging him up closer.

“Dammit, Gabriel, COME ON,” she whisper shouts.

He presses against her back and notices that she doesn’t remove her hand. It’s low on his stomach, right above the waist of his jeans. She’s got the fabric twisted up in her palm and she keeps a tight grip as she moves toward the corner again, trying to peek around.

_If her hand was down just a few inches she'd be grabbing my…_

He closes his eyes for a brief second. Not even a second really, just a long blink, trying to steady himself. He shouldn’t be thinking these thoughts right now; it’s not the time or the place. It’ll get someone hurt, or worse, killed. This distraction is bad.

And not to mention it’s not very respectful to her. She’s shown zero interest in him, which seems to fan this fire of lust in his belly. He wants her so much and she seems to have no inclination of the amount of time he spends watching her, thinking about her, _pining_ for her. 

It’s creepy when he thinks about it like that. He feels like a creep, and a pathetic one at that. Why does he want her so much? Hell, if he really wants her that much why doesn’t he snap up a clone of her and work this shit out? 

Because that’s wrong. That’s just… It’s wrong. He doesn’t know why, but he feels it in his core. If she doesn’t want him then so be it, he’ll just deal with it. But he won’t pretend with a made up replica. 

Why in the hell is he on this hunt anyway? He could be anywhere, doing anything, but he's following her through a shitty office building somewhere in Ohio. And why? Because her, that's why. 

“Gabe? Hello? Earth to Gabriel?”

He snaps back in the moment. _Quit being so distracted, you’ll get her killed._

She stops moving again and he very tentatively places a hand on her hip. Just to keep contact. That’s all. Nothing creepy or desperate there. Nope. Not at all.

“What?”

“I asked if you heard that.”

“No, what did you hear?”

“It sounded like Sam yelling.”

“Which way was it coming from?”

She nods in the direction of a hallway just ahead. “There. How did you not hear it?”

Dean steps out of the hallway and turns toward them. He seems casual, relaxed. Not like they're hunting something that could kill them all. He looks them over and steps forward, but something is off, his movement is strange.

“Dean?” she asks.

“Yeah, it’s good. All clear,” Dean is quickly approaching and the closer he gets the more uneasy Gabriel feels.

“Where’s Sam? I thought I heard him yell,” her voice gives away a hint of suspicion.

“He’s coming. We got the son of a bitch. Let’s go.”

Dean is almost to them now and the way he’s walking just isn’t _Dean._ It’s not that cocky stride he swaggers with; these steps are shorter, faster. It’s strange looking and Gabriel follows his gut.

He presses closer to her, his mouth close to her ear. She stiffens against him, her back arching slightly and her ass pressing into him. 

_No the time for that, Gabriel. Keep your cool._

Dean watches them. He’s maybe four feet away now.

“Stay still,” Gabriel whispers.

She turns her head slightly towards him. Her lips are parted and her eyes are trying to see him and she barely nods.

He moves as Dean steps beside them. He lunges, pinning him against the wall. Gabriel’s stronger, he’s an angel after all, but this shifter is way stronger than Dean. And it’s a fighter. 

He shoves his palm into its throat but it doesn’t faze the thing. He rams his knee up between its legs and it makes a sort of laughing sound. 

_None of that’s gonna work, you’re not fighting a human. You need a silver bullet, dumbass._

And she has it. 

He stops fighting like the thing is human and grapples it around. He manages to get his back against the wall and spins it in front of him. He holds it there, facing her, but it’s slipping. It’s skin seems to be slipping. 

_It’s shedding its skin. It’s gonna look like my vessel in a second. Oh shit._

“Shoot!” he yells at her. 

She looks frantic, her big eyes wide with fear. She’s looking at him but glances at the thing as it changes.

“What if I hit you?” She locks her eyes on Gabriel after she asks the question.

“It doesn’t matter, shoot it! NOW!”

She does as he says. She raises the gun and fires one bullet from no more than four feet away. It slams the thing in the chest and shoves it back into him with a wheeze. 

He lets it go and watches it slide to the floor. 

Sam and Dean run toward them, barreling around the corner. They stop short, taking in the scene. He looks at them and knows instantly, that’s the real Sam and Dean, no question. 

“You guys okay?” Sam says, a little winded.

“All good, no thanks to you two. What happened to not getting out of each other's sight?” Gabriel quips. 

“Shut up, shit happens,” Dean bites out.

He looks at her, she’s shaking a little but she nods at the brothers indicating she's ok. Dean steps closer to her and slips an arm around her shoulders. 

“What about you?” Dean looks into her eyes and she smiles up at him. 

“I’m fine. Just afraid the bullet was going to go through and hit Gabe, kinda freaked me out for a second.” She glances at Gabriel but doesn’t make eye contact. She looks back at Dean.

“Eh, don’t worry about him," Dean says. "He can take care of himself.” He hooks her head in his arm and pulls her along. “Come on, let’s clean this mess up.”

She laughs. He loves the sound of her laugh, it’s so sweet and soft and it betrays the hard exterior she’s built up. 

“That’s the only reason you guys keep me around. You just want a woman to clean up your messes,” she ribs Dean in the side and he yelps.

“Nah, that’s what Sammy’s for. He’s got better hair than you anyway,” Dean pushes her shoulder teasingly.

“No way, I have way better hair than Sam.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “We’d never know, it’s always in a ponytail.”

“No shit, I don’t know how you hunt with those flowing locks blowing around,” She pushes Sam’s stomach and he doubles over in fake pain.

Gabriel watches in amusement at first, but he can't control that twinge of jealousy that hits his stomach. Her relationship with the Winchesters is somewhat like older brothers with a younger sister, but she's not their sister and they all know it. He wonders what she really thinks of those men, if she has feelings for them. 

That thought makes the jealousy roar. It makes him want to snap and lash out. He wants to remove the competition.

He wishes he could get over her. This isn’t normal, or healthy, he wants it to go away. He’s irritated with himself, and with her, even though he recognizes that's not logical.

He snaps his fingers as Sam and Dean begin to wrestle with the body. The body, the blood, all of it disappears. 

The three of them turn in unison and look at Gabriel. 

“We need to keep you around on clean-up crew,” Dean half laughs.

Gabriel sneers at him. “I’m not your clean-up crew, but I don’t feel like hanging around and watching you mop or dust or whatever boring thing you’ve got planned. If you want domestic bliss buy a house, hell, buy a time share for all I care. Let’s go,” he turns on his heel and strides away. 

That was uncalled for. He was a jerk and he knows it-- but he can't let jealousy take him over. He can't let himself be angry with her for how she acts around these men, and more importantly he can't let himself entertain scenarios of how he'd “eliminate” the brothers as competition. He needs to distance himself from her. How he's supposed to do that he doesn't know, but if she doesn't want him this is the best he can do.

“What's his problem?” he hears Sam ask.

“Dude,” Dean mumbles, “he's an angel, and we all know angles are--”

“Dicks,” she supplies.

He hears her mutter the word and it stings. It more than stings if he’s honest, but he pushes it down. Better to keep her at arm's length than get her hurt because he’s wishing she’d want him back. 

He takes a deep breath and resolves once again to let it go.


	3. Chapter 3

Get over it. Move on. Let it go. He keeps telling himself that but it’s not working. 

_Let it go. Yeah right. I’m not that damn princess from Frozen._

The fact that he even knows that movie is a testament to how much time he’s spending with her. Why the hell else would he sit through that damn abomination? 

Well, the snowman guy was kinda funny. What was his name? Olaf? Yeah, that’s the one. And the ice castle was pretty cool. The songs weren't half bad either, he'd sung “Do you wanna build a snowman,” in his head for days after they watched it. But no. It was because of her. He only watched it for her.

He watches her pack up her stuff. He’s sitting on the dresser eating a sucker. She’s standing across the room at the table organizing things in her bag. 

She bends down to pick up a worn out pair of boots and he watches her ass. 

_Father help him, her ass is perfection._

She’s curvy. Strong and sturdy but still soft somehow. She doesn’t work toward some unattainable figure. She eats. She eats a lot actually, and she works her body hard. 

He can’t count the number of times he’s watched her from behind and wondered what her underwear looks like. If it’s anything like the way she dresses it’s probably plain and utilitarian. She sticks to jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, flannel. Simple, comfortable clothes that she can move in. Hunter clothes.

He likes to imagine her in frilly panties though. Or slipping her jeans down and she’s not wearing any at all. 

_Stop. Stop thinking about her like that._

He can’t. 

He likes the way she smells fresh out of the shower, like she does now. She's perfect caked in mud and blood and who knows what from a hunt, but when she hits her room and showers she comes out smelling softly of fruit and soap? Ugh. He can't even think about it. He desperately wants to circle his hands on her waist and bury his face in her neck.

She squats down, rifling through a duffel bag looking for something. 

He imagines her lowering herself onto him, her tight heat taking him in. 

He clears his throat and looks away, running a hand down his face. _Jesus, get yourself under control._ He adjusts himself in his jeans. He’s got to stop this. He’s bordering on obsession here. 

Actually, he's leapt the fence and he's somewhere in the back 40 now but whatever.

He hasn’t left her in days. Granted she doesn’t seem to mind. She accepted his presence without comment. He stays in her room while Sam and Dean share their own. Cas shows up from time to time. 

But Gabriel stays. She changes in the bathroom, always wearing full pajamas. He pretends he doesn’t look at her, he’s respectful, always a gentleman, but inside the desire builds.

Hell, at this point it’s more than desire. It’s way more than that. Desire, craving, longing, hunger, lust, all those synonyms apply, but none of them really encompass how much he wants her. It's something almost primal, like an instinct.

She stands and turns to the side. The swell of her breast enticing him in her old Pink Floyd shirt. It’s thin and gray and soft and it clings to her just right--

 _Fucking stop, man. You’re killing yourself here._

He can’t help wondering though, why does she let him stay? Why has she just accepted him? She’s called him a dick more than once. Granted it’s always when he’s being one, when he’s trying to put distance between them for his own sanity, but still.

Why doesn't she tell him to leave? If she wanted him gone she’d say so. One thing he likes about her is that she says what’s on her mind. She’s not cruel, she can word it so it’s not hurtful, but she’s honest with them all. 

When Dean is being a chauvinist she calls him on his shit. When Sam is being broody she snaps him out of it. When Cas is being dense she slaps some sense into him. 

So if she wanted Gabriel gone, wouldn’t she say so?

“You ready?”

Her voice pulls him out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” he slides off the dresser to stand, “whenever you are.”

“You looked a long way off there, what’cha thinkin’ about?” Her eyes look at him rather shyly as she busies her hands zipping up a bag.

“Nothing. Nothing important anyway. Just daydreaming.”

She nods absently. “Yeah, I do that sometimes too.” She hauls the bag up on her shoulder. She tucks her extra boots under her arm and strides to the door. “Let’s go.”


	4. Chapter 4

She walks out of the bathroom and he stares. Like usual she doesn't notice, but damn. 

She's wearing makeup. And instead of a ponytail her hair is braided down her back. And her lips, her full lips are stained a berry color that makes him want to nibble them. 

She's wearing tight jeans and a low cut top and all he can think about is pushing her back into the wall and kissing her until she's breathless. Until she's wrecked and needy and wanting him as much as he wants her.

“You coming out?” she asks absently as she tucks money into her pocket.

“Where are you going?”

She finally looks at him; she actually does a double take like she sees something unusual.

“A bar. Sam and Dean wanna have a beer, maybe play some pool. I'm sure Dean is looking to hook up, you know Dean.” She rolls her eyes as she slides her ID in her back pocket.

They go to bars all the time and she doesn’t look like this. What’s different tonight? Why all the effort? It’s not for Dean or Sam, Dean may be looking to hook up but it won’t be with her. Maybe she’s looking to hook up? Find a guy she can spend a night with?

_And every man in that bar is gonna try to hook up with her._

Jealousy floods his brain, shuts down his thinking. It’s like an animal twisting and writhing in his chest. He has to shake his head to clear it. 

“No.” He says it a bit too sternly.

“Really? Why not? Figured I could kick your ass at pool, maybe knock you down a notch or two.” 

She smiles at him and her teeth flashing behind those berry colored lips makes his gut clench. He wants to see those lips parted, sucking in a breath as she arches up to meet him. He wants to drive himself into her, long and hard, until she's screaming his name. 

_Fuck, you have to stop thinking about her like that._ It’s tearing him apart.

“No, I don't want to go.” 

Her smile fades, like it always does when he tries to check himself with her. He tries to put the brakes on his mind, give himself some space to breathe, and it pushes her away. Not like there's anything between them, nothing from her side anyway, but every time he does this he worries that he's broken their friendship for good. But she always lets it slide.

“Oh, okay. You alright?” 

“I'm fine. Just no desire to spend an evening in a smoke filled bar while humans try to get in each other's pants. Not in the mood.” 

“That's not--” irritation flashes across her face but she controls it, “that's not why I'm going. I just want to blow off some steam. It's been kinda boring lately, a night out might be nice.” 

So she's bored? With him? That figures. That's just his luck. He tries to be respectful and normal for once in his life and he gets called boring. 

“Feel free to blow whatever you want.” 

Something akin to rage settles on her face. It distorts her features and makes her look harsh. Her pretty mouth sets in a hard line and she tugs her boots on without tying them. She stomps to the door and turns just before slamming out of it.

“Fuck you. You're a dick.”

He stands there like a fool for a while, hating himself. Why is he so attracted to her? Why can't he forget it and move on? Why does he act like this? If he can't leave her then why the hell doesn't he _do something about it?_

He waits on her to come back, figuring he'll be waiting quite some time. He probably pissed her off enough to fuck someone to spite him. 

_Nah. She'd have to be interested in me for the idea to even occur to her, and she's obviously not interested._

Two hours later he's sitting in bed watching an old Sinatra movie when she barges in the door. 

She doesn't speak; she doesn't acknowledge him in any way. She goes straight to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. He hears water running. She's in there a long time. A really long time. When she comes out she's wearing her pajamas and her eyes are red. 

“Shut that shit off, I'm going to bed,” she snaps at him.

He flicks the remote to kill the TV. She climbs into bed, yanking back the covers that he's sitting on. He almost falls over. 

She's never laid in bed while he's in it before. They usually have separate beds unless the hotel is booked up, like tonight. But even then they're never in it at the same time; he sits in a chair while she sleeps. Or he'll spend the night under the stars and come back the next day. 

He's imagined her climbing into bed with him a billion times but this scenario is nothing like those. 

She's obviously angry. He can feel her breathing erratically. 

She pulls the blanket half over her face and rolls away from him. 

“Hey, listen, about before--” he starts.

She turns her head with a jerk.

“You shut the fuck up. Don't talk to me right now.” 

He does as he's told. He watches her, wondering if his words had upset her that much. She’s almost vibrating with anger. He sits still beside her until she falls asleep and then he moves away, leaving her alone. 

The next morning he's sitting with Cas at a small table in the motel lobby. Sam and Dean are off to the side eating something old and rubbery from the breakfast bar. 

She walks in and Dean lets out a wolf whistle and stands to clap at her.

“ _Dean,”_ Sam's voice is impatient, “sit down and leave her alone.”

“You kiddin’ me, Sammy? After what she did last night? Hell, I’m gonna sign her up for women's boxing, I think we got a title contender on our hands.”

She ignores them both completely, sitting at a small table by herself.

“What happened?” Cas asks. 

Gabriel is grateful that his brother asked. He's dying to know, but he figures she'd kill him if he asked himself. She doesn't appear to be in a better mood than the night before and she told him to shut the fuck up then. He's not talking to her unless she talks first.

“We went to a bar down the street last night, just to drink a few beers, hang out. It's cool for about 20 minutes or so, we're relaxing, she's kicking Sam's ass at pool while I chat up this blonde-- and then this huge guy, ‘bout Sam's size but easily a hundred pounds heavier, he starts hittin’ on her, right?”

She eats, her eyes locked on her plate. Gabriel knows because he's watching her while he listens to Dean. Something's weird about the way she's eating though, he can't figure it out.

“So this guy wants to play pool with her and she shoots him down, he tries to buy her a drink, she won't drink it, he's tryin’ every line he can think of and she's just shuttin’ him down one after the other. I don't know why he kept goin’, I'd have given up. Who wouldn't? But not this guy.” 

Dean turns himself toward Cas as he's getting more into the story.

“And Sam and I are just about to intervene, I mean the guy seemed harmless but he's getting annoying. He was polite and stuff but he was starting to get drunk and kinda obnoxious. Even Sam and I were over it, so we're about to walk over. She's sittin’ at the bar and he's leaned beside her talking. He leans down and says something and she finally turns toward him. She smiles all pretty and I thought, oh man, he finally got her. That's some perseverance, he finally said something right.”

Dean’s talking with his hands, really getting into it. “And then all at once she stands up-- and he's still kinda leaned toward her, and she just knocks him flat on his ass. I mean, one punch, she hits him just right and he was _out._ Cold. I mean she's what, 5'3"? And he was every bit of 6'4", and all it took was one punch. I've never seen anything like it.” Dean shakes his head, smiling.

Gabriel can't figure out what he's feeling. He's oscillating between rage toward the asshole in the bar, irritation at the Winchesters for not protecting her, and pride that she can handle herself. He already knew she could though; she handles herself just fine on hunts.

Dean looks behind him at her. “What did he even say?” he asks. 

She sits her fork down and raises her other hand from where it was hidden in her lap. She rests it gently on the table. Gabriel can see it, now he knows why it looked strange when she was eating. Her right hand is swollen and purple, and from the looks of it probably broken. 

She looks directly at Gabriel as she speaks, holding eye contact.

“He told me he'd love to see my pretty mouth wrapped around his cock. He asked me if I liked to suck dick. He wanted me to _blow him._ ” 

Gabriel’s going to find that guy in the bar. He doesn’t know how but he will, and the guy will regret ever laying eyes on her. 

Dean's smile breaks and he has the decency to look sheepish. “Oh.” He slowly sits down. He rubs his hand up the back of his head, obviously not knowing what to say. 

Gabriel can't quite figure out why Dean thought this was such an awesome story. Maybe in a strange brotherly way he's proud of her? But did it never dawn on him that the guy said something to cause such a violent reaction? She's not the type to fight without reason.

“I don't understand the human males persistence in pursuing a woman who shows no interest in them,” Cas states flatly.

_It’s not just humans who do that, brother,_ Gabriel thinks. 

She smiles down at her food but it's not a happy smile. It looks bitter. “I don't think I understand males of _any_ species.” 

_Ouch._ Gabriel knows this bitter anger of hers is directed at him. He deserves it. 

“Shit, look at your hand. Dammit it, we should have done something sooner, Dean. I'm really sor--” Sam starts an apology and she silences him with one look. 

“I don't want to talk about it anymore, I'm fine.” 

In the silence that follows, Gabriel struggles with his anger. Not at the guy, not at the brothers, but at himself. She did nothing to deserve his harshness yesterday, not one thing, and if he can't control his behavior because of some desire to claim her then he's no better than the guy at the bar.

Cas is the first to leave. He wanders outside on his own. Sam and Dean shuffle out a few minutes later, leaving her and Gabriel alone in the lobby. 

He watches her awkwardly trying to eat with her left hand. There's no coordination and she's obviously frustrated. 

He finally stands and makes himself take the 12 steps to her table. He sits across from her and she does _not_ look at him. 

He reaches out slowly, giving her time to move, but she doesn't. He slides his fingertips over the back of her hand and then wraps them around to gently hold it. He heals her, the fracture setting back into place and the bruised tissue going down. 

“I don’t think they know it but I always carry brass knuckles.” she says softly. “I might have really hurt that guy--”

“Good,” Gabriel cuts her off.

She finally raises her eyes and looks at him. She studies him and as he watches something in her face seems to soften. She nods. 

He nods back. 

He pulls his hand away and she breaks eye contact, looking down at her hand. She flexes it, stretching her fingers, and then she picks up her fork. 

She finishes her food and stands, moving toward the door. She notices he isn’t following and stops halfway there, turning back to him.

“You coming?”

He wasn't. He'd decided he was leaving, but he can't tell her no. He won't. 

He rises out of his chair and follows.


	5. Chapter 5

She's drinking a milkshake in sweatpants and an old flannel, thick fuzzy socks on her feet. She's not paying any attention to him; her focus is solely on the book in her lap and the straw in her mouth. 

“Damn, this thing is thick. Did they give you spoons?” She shifts her eyes from the book to him, her dark eyelashes shadowing her eyes.

“No, sorry.”

She shrugs. “No big deal,” she pulls the straw out and runs her tongue along the length of it. “This is really good.”

_I want to taste her. I wish I could kiss her. I bet she tastes as sweet as that choc--_

“What kind did you get?”

He clears his throat and looks down at the milkshake. What kind is it? How does she always manage to fry his brain when she's not even doing anything?

“Marshmallow,” he finally answers.

“Ew. Is it good?” She sits up from the head board and the loose neck off her flannel shirt slips off her shoulder. The shirts too big, probably an old one from Sam or Dean. Her hair is still wet from the shower. 

A strand of hair falls forward and she tucks it behind her ear. 

No one ever sees her with her hair down except him. He likes that. It's silly but it makes him feel like he has a secret with her. They don't see how silky and shiny it is when it's loose and grazing over her back and shoulders. They can't imagine what it would feel like to touch it, run their finger through it. That's just for him.

“Gabe?”

He focuses on her. “Hmm?”

“You're such a space case. I asked if it was good.”

“Oh yeah, sorry. Yes it is.”

“Can I taste it?” 

Sometimes he could swear she says shit like that just to make him want her more. Wishful thinking on his part.

He crosses the room and hands it to her. She uses his straw and he feels like an idiot for thinking he'll have his mouth where hers was in a second. How childish.

“Oh my God, that's _good.”_ She takes another drink. “I don't really like marshmallows but this is delicious.” 

She looks like she's in heaven.

“Keep it,” he tells her.

“What? No way. I can't take your milkshake. I'll remember to order that next time though.” She holds it out to him.

“No, keep it. I don't need to eat anyway.”

She smiles slightly. “Well I don't need it either, and I certainly don't need two. Take my chocolate then.” She holds it out and doesn't budge when he shakes his head no. “Take it.”

He finally reaches out and ignores the butterflies in his stomach when their fingers brush.

“I shouldn't eat this, it'll go straight to my thighs and they're rubbing together enough as it is.” 

“There's nothing wrong with your thighs,” he pulls from the straw, tasting the chocolate. _I'd like to rub my face between your thighs though._

“Hey, does it bother you when I say God's name in vain? Is that blasphemy to you?”

The question is so off the wall that he doesn't follow her.

“I'm sorry?”

“I tried not to at first but you're around so much now that I slip up. When I curse or say ‘Oh my God’ does it bother you? Am I going to hell?”

He can't help but chuckle a little. “No, you're not going to hell. And no, it doesn't bother me. I don't even notice it. I swear sometimes too, you've heard me.”

“Yeah I know, it's just-- I think being around angels so much makes me overthink.” She looks down into her milkshake and tosses her hair over her shoulder.

He wondered when she would say something. There's never been a discussion or acknowledgment of him staying with her, about him never leaving. It just kinda evolved that way, but now he has her acknowledgement that she noticed. It's going to eat him up wondering if she wants him gone. And now he knows that him always being around makes her overthink. Which means what really, he makes her feel weird?

He watches her stare into her cup and wonders what he should say. He finally looks down into the chocolate and stirs it with the straw before he speaks.

“Does it bother you? Having angels around so much?”

She tosses her book aside and he looks at it on the bed. He's surprised to see it's not some dry history of something supernatural. It's a romance novel. A smut one at that, by the looks of the cover.

“No. I mean, Cas comes and goes. I don't really notice him. But you're,” she looks at him, “you're always around. I don't mind it. You're quiet when I want quiet. You make me laugh; you don't take stuff so seriously. You're silly and dramatic, and your pranks are funny. Usually.” She meets his eyes for a second. “I won’t lie though; sometimes your pranks are a little disturbing. I get them though, why you do it. And you bring me milkshakes even when it's sub-zero outside.” She grins at him, her white teeth showing and then she winks. 

He smiles back. At least he knows he's not bothering her. But he should probably give her space. Being around her all the time isn't normal for a friendship, from what he understands.

She shivers and pulls the flannel closer around her neck. 

“You cold?”

“Yeah a little. I'll get under the blankets in a minute anyway, I'm tired. Milkshake's probably not helping either.” She sets it on the table beside the bed.

_I could warm you up._

“Thank you though, for the milkshakes. I don't know why I wanted one so bad in the middle of January when the heat in this hotel barely even works. You didn't have to go out in the snow to get them.”

_Yes I did. And I'd do it again, I'd do it in a blizzard if it made you smile._

“Your wish is my command, m’lady.” He tips his head to her.

“Whatever, I'm sure as hell not a lady.” 

She stands and pulls the blankets back, crawling into bed and pulling her book back over.

“You're right, you're the heroine.” 

He watches her look at him. She smiles and shakes her head in disbelief. 

“Whatever,” she tosses a napkin at him but it falls about 20 feet short. She doesn't take compliments well.

“Probably not winning any fights with those throwing skills though,” he razzes her and smiles when she rolls her eyes. God he wants to kiss her.

She flips to her stomach and opens her book to read.

He admires the curve of her rear end under the blankets. He'd like to pull her hips up and lick her front to back and make her writhe. 

_Fucking hell, quit being such a pervert._

Easier said than done.


	6. Chapter 6

“Hey,” he knocks on the bathroom door, “you wanna go with the boys to grab a beer?” 

He hears the water shut off in the sink and a minute later the door opens.

“No, I better not. My side hurts and if I drink it'll probably bleed again.” 

He blinks. 

Did she get hurt during the hunt? Why didn't one of them tell him? Why didn't _she_ tell him?

“Are you hurt?” 

She's walking slowly, a little hitch in her step. “Just a scratch, no big deal.” 

“Let me see it.” 

She eases down onto the bed. “I'm fine, don't worry about it.” 

This is weird. She's never not let him heal her before. What's going on here? 

“I'm not going to leave you injured when I can heal you, even if it's just a scratch. I don't care if it's a hangnail, there's no reason for you to be in pain. Where's it at.” 

“I already told you, it's on my side. Seriously though, just leave it. It'll be gone in a couple days.”

“What's the deal,” he steps closer to where she's sitting on the bed, “you've never refused healing before.” 

She rubs her eyes. She looks tired.

“Yeah, I just--” she covers her eyes and leans forward, wincing. “Is there, like, a female angel that could maybe heal me?” 

“What?” _What the fuck kinda question is that?_

“Nevermind, that was stupid.” She shakes her head. “Fine, hold on.” 

She stands again, very slowly. When she's finally upright she grabs the bottom of her hoodie and eases it up. She hisses as she raises her arms. 

He watches as her stomach is slowly exposed. Her belly button appearing and then all that smooth pale skin. He can see something dark down low on her belly, just a small hint of it teasing out the waist of her jeans. She has a tattoo? His mouth goes dry. 

She turns and tries to pull her shirt up more and still somehow keep her left breast covered. This is why she wanted a female angel; she's practically naked from the waist up. And she's not wearing a bra.

It's completely distracting him. He shouldn't be thinking anything sexual right now, it's not right. She's tried to bandage herself but the gash starts just under her breast and curves around her rib. The white bandage is spotted with blood. 

“What the hell? Why didn't you say something? How did this happen?” He'd been close to her the entire hunt; he can't remember anything that could have caused this.

“I fell, my foot twisted on some metal and I went down in that pile. Something in there gouged me; it's really not that bad--”

“Bullshit,” he cuts her off as he slowly peels the bandage back. “You know I'm familiar with human anatomy, right? Even female anatomy? I can heal you; it doesn't matter where you get hurt.” 

She looks embarrassed. “It's my own fault for falling in a junk yard.” 

She yelps as the tape tugs the sensitive skin under her breast. She grabs his shoulder to steady herself. 

She's so close but he tries to focus on what he's doing. He can't get distracted right now, this is important. He tosses the bandage away and hovers his palm over her back, gently sliding his hand around. His palm slowly reaches the deepest point, the puncture is deeper than it looked and he knows it has to be painful. His fingers accidentally brush that soft swell of flesh above it and she gasps. It wasn't intentional, he feels silly for making the mistake.

Her hand locks around his wrist and she doesn’t let go.

“Guess it’s a good thing it hit me in the ribs.” Her breath is a little shaky and her eyes are flashing to meet his and then quickly away. “If I’d got it lower it probably would have went into my gut. That’s why your Dad built us this way, right?”

She’s looking at him expecting an answer. He doesn’t know what to say.

He raises his eyebrows and she must understand it’s a kind of question.

“You know, he made our ribs to protect the really important stuff. Like the heart and lungs? Right?”

This is a weird conversation to be having when he’s inches away from her with her hand still locked around his wrist. 

He steps back and nods. “Yeah-- yes. He, yeah, I mean--” why the hell is he stuttering? “I didn’t really ask him but that makes sense.” 

She's shaking, he can feel it. She releases him and tugs her sweatshirt down quickly. 

He clears his throat and tries to act normal. He rubs his fingertips together over and over, remembering the soft feel of her skin.

“So, you sure you don't wanna come out? The brothers are gonna try to get Cas laid.” 

Her eyes go wide and she snorts. “Are you serious?”

“I told them it was a lost cause. I tried that in the dark ages, he's just not interested. It always goes…” he looks off, searching for a tactful word, “poorly, to say the least.”

She laughs out loud and he grins. He loves making her laugh.

“Alright, you twisted my arm. Let me put a bra back on and I'll go.”

His cock twitches and he instructs it to back down. It doesn't listen.

The bar is busy. It's loud and the people are bumping into each other as they try to navigate their way through. The five of them are squeezed into a booth against the wall.

“You gotta get one of them to dance, Cas. That's how you get your foot in the door,” Dean yells over the cover band's rendition of Don't Stop Believing.

“I don't want my foot in any doors, Dean. This is a waste of time.” Cas looks at Dean with a mixture of boredom and irritation. 

She's got a tumbler of whiskey on the rocks in her hand, spinning the ice with a tiny straw. She seems oblivious to the conversation. 

“What about that one, you like her?” Dean points at a woman across the bar. She catches him and smiles. “She's a pretty red head,” he wiggles his fingers in a wave.

“I don't particularly _like_ any of them.” 

“Come on, Cas, a bet's a bet,” Sam says, “and you lost. You have to at least try, you said you would.”

“I will no longer be wagering with either of you,” Cas replies.

Gabriel smirks. Everything about this situation is ridiculous. 

“Pick one and ask her to dance,” Dean orders.

“I don't know how to dance.” 

Dean seems surprised by this. Why Gabriel has no idea. Did he imagine Cas doing the Foxtrot? The notion of Cas dancing at all is once again, ridiculous.

Dean recovers and his determination is back. “Doesn't matter, she'll show you. Hey,” he snaps his fingers at her.

She's distracted, not paying any attention to the men or angels. She looks up curiously.

“What?”

“Teach Cas to dance.” It's not a request; Dean says it like it's a normal thing.

“ _What_?”

“Cas doesn't know how to dance, show him so he can ask someone.”

She stares at Dean, her face screwed up in a mixture of _what the fuck_ and _hell no._ She looks at Gabriel like he should have an answer to what this craziness is all about. 

He shrugs.

“I have no desire to dance with her, Dean.” Cas is quiet for a second and then seems to realize his statement could be rude. He looks at her. “No offense. I have no desire to dance with anyone.”

She doesn't reply, she finishes her drink.

“Cas, you promised to try,” Sam chastises.

Cas can have some serious bitch face when he wants and he breaks it out in all its glory. He looks between Sam and Dean, his jaw set and his mouth hard. He finally looks back to her.

“Will you show me how to dance?” 

She looks him over. “Sure. Next slow song we'll try it. I don't dance to that stuff.” 

Cas nods. 

The next slow song they play is Guns N Roses, _Patience_. It sounds horrible but the floor is packed. Every couple in the bar is trying to fit themselves in a space designed for half the amount of people. 

She and Cas are stuck directly beside their table as she tries to instruct him.

“Ok, put your hands around my back.” 

“Don't we place our palms together?”

She looks at up at Cas. “Listen, buddy, I don't know how to dance like that. The only dances I ever went to were in high school. This is how we danced in high school. Take it or leave it.”

“She's right, Cas. Nobody in here is doing that fancy hand crap,” Dean is grinning at them. 

Even Gabriel is amused he has to admit.

Cas steps closer to her and she puts her hands on his shoulders. He slips his arms loosely around her back.

“Put your hands lower, they should be right above her ass,” Dean teases.

She speaks directly to Cas. “First rule? Don't listen to a damn thing Dean says. Got it?”

Dean's expression falters. “I was just kidding, geez.”

She ignores Dean. “Okay, now we move. Just rock side to side. Yep, you got it. The biggest thing is don't step on her feet. If she steps on yours, don't mention it.” 

Cas nods seriously, following her direction.

“Ok, that's it. Now we kinda go in circles.”

The other couples are moving around them and they're shifting away into the mass of slowing rocking bodies.

“What kinda bet did you lose anyway?” she asks as they drift farther away.

Gabriel can’t hear Cas answer.

Her ass is swaying side to side and he watches it like a metronome each time her back is to him. He's not jealous of her with Cas, but he can't help wanting to _be_ Cas in the moment.

They’re talking to as they dance but Gabriel can't hear any longer. The music and the people drown them out. Cas speaks sparingly, as Cas does. 

“If you want her so much why don't you fucking do something about it?” 

It takes a minute to register that Dean is talking to him. 

He spins his head toward the Winchesters, his eyes narrowing. “What did you say?” 

Sam holds his hands up in surrender. “Wasn't me, I didn't say anything, but it _is_ obvious. She doesn't seem to know though.” 

He looks back and forth between them, not knowing how to respond. Should he deny it? Confess? Ask for advice? No, hell no. That notion is laughable. 

“Look, it’s your business, I don’t really care either way,” Dean shrugs as he swigs his beer. “I can’t figure it out though. Big archangel like you, are you scared or what?”

Anger flashes through him like a flame. “Excuse me?”

“Shut up, Dean.” Sam intervenes again. “Just ignore him.”

Gabriel looks back at her with Cas.

“You do what you want, but you can’t tell me that you’re not starving for her. You look at her like she’s your last meal.” Dean’s empty beer bottle whacks the table when he sits it down.

He thinks. He wants to say something. He thinks he should deny it but it would be pointless, obviously he’s not hiding it well. He finally decides to ask them not to tell her. He opens his mouth to speak but Sam somehow knows what he’s about to say.

“Don't worry, your secret's safe with us.” 

Gabriel nods.

Her and Cas don't get pushed very far away before the crowd somehow pushes them back toward their table.

They're just within earshot when a guy approaches them.

“C’n I cut in?” His speech is slurred with alcohol.

Cas moves to withdraw his arms from her back and she clutches to him. Her hands twist in the fabric on his biceps, and Gabriel can see her holding onto the muscle there.

And there's the jealousy. Something about her holding onto Cas so tightly makes his blood boil. He wants to push them apart, pull her hands out of that stupid fucking _trench coat._

“No thanks, this our first dance. Kinda special,” she says sweetly to the guy.

She looks at Cas sternly as the guy retreats.

“Ok, I don't know what the rules are for that shit, but I'm gonna say that you let her decide if she wants the guy to cut in. Don't hand her over to a drunk stranger unless she says it's ok.”

“That's good advice,” Sam says. They're close enough to the table for them to join the conversation again.

“I apologize,” Cas says.

“Don't worry about it.” Her hands are still gripping his arms, she shakes his upper body and Cas looks confused. “RELAX. Quit being so stiff, you're not made of metal.” 

“Okay,” Cas visibly drops his shoulders, his hands move around her back again. 

“Now, if she likes you she might move closer, so don't freak out.” 

“It's not possible to get closer,” Cas says. His tone sounds like he thinks she's stupid.

“Wrong. Look down between us, see how you can see our feet?”

Cas looks down his chest and nods.

She presses her body against him from chest to thighs. “See? She can definitely get closer. If she's into you she may start out closer.”

Cas looks visibly uncomfortable. 

Gabriel is fighting jealousy and laughter. There's nothing to be jealous of, logically he knows that. She's never shown any interest in Cas and vice versa. He shoves the jealousy away and lets himself laugh at Cas, his spine is so straight it looks like he's got a rod down his vertebrae. His hands are hovering over her back. It's the most awkward thing to watch. 

She pulls back a little and smiles up at Cas. “You good? You got this?”

Cas nods.

“Good, now go for it.” She moves to the booth and slides back in beside Gabriel as Cas moves determinedly through the throng of people.

“Where's he going?” Dean asks, tracking Cas with his eyes.

“We picked out a girl while we were dancing.”

Dean watches like a hawk. Gabriel watches too. So does Sam. The three of them looking on in a mixture of curiosity, disbelief and something akin to a bizarre pride.

Cas moves to the bar and slides between two people. He stands next to a woman as he orders a drink. She's short, perched on a bar stool as she talks animatedly to a friend. Her dark hair is curly and her face is round and pretty. She notices Cas and does a double take.

“He's got her,” she comments as she tries to wave a waitress down. “I knew all he had to do is ask what she's drinking and then buy her one.”

“What? No way,” Dean scoffs. 

“She just did a double take at a guy wearing a trench coat on a Friday night in July. It's a hundred degrees outside, Dean. And she didn't look at him like he's crazy, she looked at him like _hello._ He's got her.” 

She orders another glass of whiskey on the rocks.

“Now he just has to keep her talking until the next slow song and he's got it made. Shouldn't be hard, she talks nonstop. That's why I picked her.” She sits back and turns her head toward Gabriel, winking. “What about you, you dance? You need me to teach you?” 

The question catches him completely off guard. It takes him a second to formulate an answer while he blinks dumbly at her. 

“Uh, yeah. No, I can dance.” He says it and then immediately wants to punch himself. He realizes too late that this was his way of getting her into his arms and he just blew it. 

She shrugs and looks back at Dean. 

“I'll be damned. She's actually _talking_ to him,” Dean says in shock. 

“Pretty sure she'd talk to a wall as long as it held still.” The waitress sets her drink down and she sips it. 

Somehow Cas manages to nod at the right times for the next 15 minutes, and then they all sit and watch in wonder as he slowly circles the woman around the room during an atrocious rendition of Journey's, _Faithfully_.

“Oh man, I love this song.” Her eyes are closed and she looks downright dreamy.

“Yeah, and this guy's gonna destroy it,” Dean complains.

“You wanna dance?”

Sam asks it and Gabriel wants to smack his own forehead. _Dammit, why can't I think around her? Why the fuck didn't I ask her to dance?_

She opens her eyes and smiles sweetly at Sam. “No thanks, I'm good.”

When the song is over Cas follows the woman back to the bar, but it fizzles quickly after that. Cas is back less than ten minutes after the dance concludes.

“What happened?” Sam asks as Cas approaches.

“She's not interested in taking me home with her.” 

Dean face palms. “Jesus Christ, Cas. Did you seriously ask her that?”

“Yes, wasn't that the point of all this?”

Dean looks at Gabriel stone faced. “You're right. It's not possible to get him laid,” he turns and pushes at Sam. “Let me out, I'm going to find that redhead.” 

Sam obliges and the four of them sit together. She drinks. A little too much and maybe a little too fast. Sam and Cas talk and soon her tongue loosens up and she joins in. Her voice gets a little louder and her words a little more blunt.

“You guys got feathers?” She looks expectantly between Cas and Gabriel.

“What?” Sam laughs.

“You know, feathers, like a bird. You’ve got wings, right?”

Cas nods and Gabriel sits back in the booth smiling. She’s cute when she’s drunk.

“Ok, so if you’ve got wings do they have feathers? Are they some kind of bat wings? Or like those big dinosaur things, you know-” she snaps her fingers trying to think of the name.

“Pterodactyl?” Sam asks.

“Yes! That’s it! Are they like pterodactyl wings?”

“No, they’re not like a pterodactyl.” Cas states.

“So they have feathers?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Gabriel winks.

“What does that mean? Do you guys molt like birds?”

Gabriel throws his head back laughing and she looks confused. He can’t even explain why he finds it so funny but the idea of him dropping feathers is hysterical to him.

“What’s so funny?” She looks offended at him laughing.

“Nothing, I’m just imagining all the angels in heaven molting, feathers floating everywhere. Just massive piles of feathers. The mess would kill them, they’d go ape shit up there. Think of the things I could do with a barrel of tar.” He chuckles again.

She grins. “I’d take a pillow stuffed with angel feathers, I bet they’re soft. Or we could dive into the piles, you know-- like with leaves!” Her excitement is almost childlike.

Gabriel looks at the sparkle in her eye. He imagines her blindfolded, spread out under him like an offering. Tracing a feather over her sensitive skin, along her curves, up the back of her legs, over the swell of her--

“Ok, I think you’ve had enough,” Sam moves to take her drink and she snatches it away, brown liquor sloshing over the rim.

“No I haven’t,” she looks between the angels again, “what color are they?”

“Mine are black,” Cas says flatly. Despite seeming bored he does seem a bit taken by her interest and he smiles at her. 

She looks at Gabriel. “What color are yours?”

When she looks at him like that he can’t think, he has to break eye contact. “They’re brown, kind of a golden brown. Close to a Golden Eagle, depending on the light. You ever seen one of those?”

She shakes her head no. “Are they big? Can I see them? Can I _touch_ them?”

“Jesus, I’m gone 20 minutes and I come back to this conversation?” Dean grumbles as he walks up.

“Fuck off, Dean, we’re talking about wings,” she slams her drink back.

“Whatever,” he turns to Sam, “Give me the room key.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think? And give me at least two hours. No-- three.”

“Dammit, Dean, can’t you go to her place?”

“No go, Sammy. If you knock and I don’t answer give me another hour.” Dean walks away to meet the girl.

“Stay off my bed!” Sam calls after him.

“But seriously though,” she asks, trying to get their attention again. “What about the eyes?” 

“What are you talking about now?” Sam chuckles at her.

Gabriel wants to wrap his arm around her shoulder. He's still kicking himself for not playing dumb about dancing. _Show me how close we can get. You know, for science._

“The vessels. Look at them.” She gestures towards Cas. “His eyes are some kinda Prince Charming, Fairytale, unreal color blue. And his,” she shoves her thumb toward Gabriel. 

They're shoulder to shoulder beside each other in the booth. She turns slightly to look at him and her thigh presses up to his. He can feel the heat coming off of her. She looks directly into his eyes and just stares, shifting her vision back and forth as she works out words to describe his eyes. 

“His are,” she pauses again, “they're brown, but kind of a weird brown. Like, gold. Or Amber? And they have all these yellow flecks, and a dark ring around the outside. I don't know…” 

Gabriel shifts his eyes down to her mouth. They're so _close,_ face to face, literally inches between them. She's wearing that berry colored lip whatever again and her lips look so full. Her tongue darts out nervously to lick them.

“It's probably the grace,” Cas’ gravelly voice cuts in. 

The moment, whatever it was, is broken. She looks at Cas. “Huh?” 

“My grace is white blue, Gabriel's is gold. That is probably why the eyes of our vessels look so vibrant.”

“Oh,” she runs her palms down her thighs, her fingers brushing down Gabriel's by accident.

He's so out of his element from the moment they just had that the touch of her fingers startles him. He jumps slightly and moves his leg away. He immediately wants to put it back, but he feels like that would be weird.

She looks down at her glass. “So it's not a requirement for an angel's vessel to have freakish eyes?” 

“Not that I'm aware of,” Cas says seriously, not catching that her question was sarcastic and rhetorical.

She laughs with Sam. 

He loves her laugh. He’s going to tell her. When they’re alone in her room later he’s going to tell her how he feels.

Well, he would if Dean had ever let Sam in. Instead the younger Winchester is sprawled across the extra bed in her room and Gabriel is sitting on the roof staring at the stars.

Probably a good thing though. He can’t tell her when she’s drunk. That wouldn’t be right. He’ll tell her tomorrow. He’ll bring her coffee and let her shower and then he’ll sit her down. Tomorrow. It’s definitely time. He has to get this off his chest and tomorrow is the day.


	7. Chapter 7

He never tells her. She's hung over the next day and it doesn't seem right. Her head is pounding and the light makes her want to puke and he doesn't think she wants to hear about a pathetic archangel pining for her. 

The next day there's a hunt. He can't distract her, that would be dangerous. Then a week passes and he makes an excuse every day. It never feels like the right time, Cas is around; the brothers are in the room next door, what if she doesn't feel anything for him, what if she asks him to leave? The scenarios he’s concocted in his head devolve further and further the longer he thinks about it.

And now they’re driving down the road in a torrential downpour and he’s never confessed. He should do it now. But she’s trying to concentrate on the road. It’s probably not a good time. 

The rain is relentless. She's trying her best to drive but it's impossible. The water is pounding the windshield in sheets; she struggles with the wheel at times as they hit standing water.

Gabriel watches her foot working the pedals of her truck. She finally eases to the side of the road and shoves it into park. She hits the flashers and kills the engine. The flashers probably aren't necessary, the roads are deserted.

She rolls her head around stretching her neck and then slumps down in the seat a bit.

“Might as well wait this out, I can't see shit.” 

Gabriel nods, watching the rain pelt the windows. They're not on a timeline anyway. They just finished a hunt on their own and now they're heading to meet the Winchesters again. They're somewhere west, he rarely pays attention to where they are while she drives. 

She's quiet, her eyes closed. The daylight is gray and hazy through the rain. Her arms are crossed over her chest. 

He feels her look over at him. He keeps his eyes fixed out the front window but her gaze is like a weight. She doesn't say anything for several minutes.

“Sometimes I think I'm going crazy.” 

He finally looks at her. “Why would you think that?”

She looks away now. They rarely look at each other at the same time.

“Sometimes it feels like I made you up. Like you're only real in my head. Especially when I don't talk to anyone but you for days.”

He doesn't know what to make of this information. 

“But then I see you talking to Sam or Dean and I know I'm not crazy. You're not just living in my head.” 

He shifts in the seat. “No, you're not crazy.” It's all he can think to say. 

The rain whips loudly against the truck.

She's quiet again. 

She finally sits up, straightening her posture. “Where do you go at night?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Hmm?”

“Some nights I wake up and you're not in the room. I just wonder where you go.”

This question makes his chest ache. This is it. This is his moment to confess. How can he answer this honestly and not make her uncomfortable?

_Sometimes I just have to get away from you. I can control myself during the day, but at night… I watch you sleeping, your hair mussed up on the pillow, your face so peaceful. Something about the dark, the quiet and the stillness, the only sound I hear is you breathing. I convince myself that I could have you. It gives me courage that I don’t have during the day. I start thinking that I should crawl in bed beside you, lay down and pull you closer, kiss you awake and touch you everywhere. So I leave. It's the only way to keep myself from doing all those things._

He can't say it. He can't tell her any of that. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He's been thinking about it too long.

“You don't have to answer. I just thought maybe you go to Heaven. Or the Grand Canyon. Or maybe the Great Wall of China, I don't know. I lay there and imagine you in these grand places.” 

The rain is easing up but it's still a downpour. A little more light makes its way through the black clouds. Rain is still running in rivers on the windows.

The moment is gone. Of course it is. He’s not an archangel, he’s a giant, overgrown chicken. He always has been.

“No. No I don't go anywhere like that. I usually just go to the roof of the hotel and get some air.” 

“Oh,” she runs her hand along the bottom of the steering wheel. 

“Sorry to disappoint.”

Her eyes flash over. “No, you didn't.”

The quiet resumes. Several minutes pass. Something about the day, the rain, her. It mixes to make everything seem a little dreamy, almost surreal.

He imagines her moving toward him slowly. Straddling his hips on the bench seat. Her hands on his face as she slowly leans in to kiss him. He slides his hands sliding around her back and down over her ass while she grinds on him-

“What's Heaven like?” 

Damn if she can't throw him for a loop with her questions. She gets him every time.

“Uh, well,” he turns toward her a bit, “that's hard to answer. It's different for everyone. For the humans I mean. It's whatever makes you happy. For angels it's kinda like an office job. Orderly and precise, stuffy, kind of sterile, with rules and regulations.” 

She rests her head on the driver's side window. “So it's not like a paradise? I always imagined it like an Eden. With angels floating on clouds in white robes.”

He chuckles a bit. “Playing harps?” 

“Or a horn,” she looks at him with smiling eyes. 

“I still can't remember where I put that damn thing,” he snaps his fingers and a French horn appears in his hand.

Her eyes go wide in childlike wonder, her jaw agape. 

“Nope, wrong one.” He snaps it away.

“You're horrible,” she shakes her head, “was there really a horn of Gabriel?”

“Yeah, there was. Probably still around somewhere, who knows.” He winks.

She slides her thumbs over the steering wheel and he imagines her thumbs sliding around something else. He looks away from her. 

“So no angels on clouds? No Garden of Eden?”

“Unfortunately not, sweetheart.” He uses the endearment without thinking. The second it's out of his mouth he's kicking himself. Something in his expression must give it away.

“It's okay, you can call me that. You know me now,” she leans over the steering wheel, wrapping her arms around it. “We’re quite a pair, aren’t we?”

“How so?”

“You know - a crazy girl, her old truck and an archangel riding shotgun.” She turns the key and the engine roars to life. She pulls the truck back onto the road in the slacking rain. 

He doesn’t answer, looking out the passenger side window as the miles start sliding by. 

“Might as well get comfortable, we got a long drive, Feathers.”

He glances at her and she winks.


	8. Chapter 8

“Listen, Gabe, I don’t want to sound like a bitch here but I need some alone time.”

He looks up from the cheap motel table at her brushing her teeth in the bathroom doorway. Her mouth is full of toothpaste and her face looks worried. 

He raises his eyebrows. He figured this day would come. He stays too close to her, it’s not normal, he knows it. He wondered how long it would take, when she’d finally work up the nerve to tell him to get the hell out.

Looks like today’s the day.

“Yeah, sure thing. I’m sorry, that's understandable. I don't mean to bother you. I’ll-- I’ll go,” he moves to stand but she holds her hand up. 

“No-- wait,” She retreats to the bathroom to spit in the sink. She comes back wiping her mouth on a towel. She sits opposite him and fidgets her fingers in the fabric before she speaks. “I just, I need a little bit of time. I like having you here, I do. But there’s something I need to work out. A little bit of tension, you know how it is.”

She glances at him and her cheeks are a little pink. He’s never seen her blush before and suddenly he realizes what she means. 

_Holy shit, she’s telling me she wants to masturbate._

She starts talking again. “Or maybe you don’t know how it is, I don’t know. I just need to let off a little steam, it’s kind of a stress reliever for me and it’s been awhile. A long time actually. And I just _need_ it.”

He’s dumb. He can’t speak because his brain has shut down. His mouth is hanging open and he can feel himself getting hard in his pants. He nonchalantly moves his arm to cover his lap. 

“Yeah, I--” he nods, trying to form words. “I get it. I know that feeling.”

“You do?” She seems genuinely surprised and curious.

“Sure,” he really wishes his cock would calm down.

“Oh. I didn’t think--” she looks at her fidgeting hands, “it’s just that Cas told me some angels are asexual, so I-- I don't know, I didn't know if maybe you were.”

“Um,” he chuckles a bit. How in the hell would she think he’s asexual? “Some angels are asexual but I am definitely _not._ I thought you knew that.”

One corner of her mouth lifts in a shy smile. “Well, I knew about the porn but I thought maybe that was a cover or something. Not real, ya know?”

He nods. “It was at times. But I’ve--” he pauses, what should he tell her? Does she want details of sexual escapades? Probably not. “I’m definitely not an asexual being.” He leaves it at that.

Her eyebrows lift and she stares at her hands. “Oh.” 

“You could probably find someone to work that tension out with. If you wanted to. I mean-” _what the fuck is he even saying here?_ “I just-- there's probably a guy around that would be more than happy to…” _Shut up, Gabriel._

She looks shocked. And embarrassed. “Um, I don't know. You mean like Sam or Dean?”

He has to check his anger, jealousy floods through him like a dam has broken. If that's who she wants then so be it. He has no say in it whatsoever.

“Sure, if you're interested in them--”

She cuts him off 

“I'm not. At all.” She flicks her eyes to him and then back down. “Don't get me wrong, they're good looking guys. They're _really_ good looking guys, actually, but that would just be weird or something. It would make hunting with them…” She pauses and drums her fingers on the table.

He can't help but feel relief at that. Although her insistence on how attractive the two are doesn’t sit well. 

“Well, it doesn't have to be them. You're beautiful, I'm sure it wouldn't be hard for you to find someone more than willing--” what is he saying? Why is he pushing her toward some random man? 

Because he'd never believe that she'd be interested in him, that's why.

She tugs on her ponytail and shifts in her chair, pulling a leg up to tuck it into her chest. “I'm not beautiful.” 

The words sound almost shy and he takes a second to study her.

“We'll have to agree to disagree on that point.”

“Yeah, I guess. Doesn't matter anyway, I don't want a random hook up. I've had those, they're fine but it's a lot of work for something I can take care of myself.” 

Her eyes shift down to his lap. He's got his arm situated at an angle to cover his growing bulge and he really needs to adjust his cock because his jeans are digging into it. He doesn't want her to see him do that though so he just sits uncomfortably, imagining her in the bed, touching herself. He's getting harder and harder, he really needs to control his thoughts.

She raises her eyes to look at his face. “So, do you,” she gestures slightly toward his waist with a hand, “you know.”

 _Is she asking me if I jack off?_ He can't believe this conversation is real. What should he say? He should probably just be honest. She's being honest with him. 

He moves his arm and sees her look down. His erection is obvious and recognition settles on her face.

“Sometimes I have to.”

She raises her thumb to her mouth and bites the side of her nail.

“Yeah, I can see that.” She sits back, drops her leg. She’s fidgeting more and more, rubbing her palms down her thighs. “So when do you-- how do you find time to, you know.”

“Usually when you're in the shower.”

She nods. She's chewing the inside of her bottom lip. “I do it in the shower if the hot water lasts long enough. Haven't been a decent motel in a while though.”

“I know. I haven't had long enough to take care of things either.” 

She looks away; he can tell she's trying not to smile. “So basically we've both been doing that at the same time, we just had a wall between us.”

That seam is really cutting into him. He wiggles in his seat. “Pretty much.” He stands and tugs his pant legs down, giving himself room.

She looks at the bulge and shifts her eyes away. And then back. And then away again.

“So anyway, I'll go for a while. I'll be back tonight. Sound like a plan?” 

She nods and he moves toward the door. Why is he using the door right now? He snaps in and out of everywhere, what is he doing?

“You could stay--”

He pauses, turning back to her. “What?”

“I mean,” she's talking to her hands again, folding the towel as small as possible. “We're both adults, right? Well, I'm an adult, you're questionable sometimes. But we've been basically doing it five feet apart anyway. We can handle it without being weird, don't you think?”

His pants are way too tight right now. And there's no blood left in his brain, it's all rushing to his cock. He shouldn't have this conversation; he should leave her alone to do what she needs to do.

“I guess I could go in the bathroom,” he says, his brain working in slow motion.

“Yeah if you want. But, there's two beds in here, we could just divide and conquer. It doesn't have to be weird, right? We can handle it. I think we can.” 

Is she trying to talk herself into it? Him? He's not sure.

“Yeah, we probably can,” he nods. 

_Is this real? It's like the cliché opening to a porno, which is pretty ironic when he thinks about it._

“Okay, so, yeah. Let's do it.” She's nodding back at him very decidedly. She meets his eyes for a second and then stands. 

She makes her way to the closest bed and waits for him to move to the other bed behind her. When she hears his weight on the mattress she unbuttons her flannel shirt and slips it off. 

He can't breathe. He doesn't need to anyway but if he did he'd pass out because the sight of her naked back is breathtaking. 

She reaches behind her and unfastens her bra, tossing it aside. She pulls her hair down and it slides across her skin. She pulls the flannel back on and buttons two buttons. When she turns around it's closed just enough not to reveal her breasts.

She pulls the blankets back and he thinks she's getting in bed, but she unbuttons her jeans first. 

He's hard enough to break concrete and he still hasn't taken a breath.

He loves those jeans on her. They're old, worn thin, with a couple rips in the thighs. They fit her like a glove.

She shimmies them down and quickly slides under the blankets, but not before he got a glimpse of teal and polka dots. Her panties are girly after all. 

Holy shit he's turned on. 

He watches her situate herself as he settles back against the wall. He's not sure if he's supposed to be facing her, watching her every move, but unless she tells him not to he's not gonna miss a second of this. 

She settles her head on the pillow and bends her knees up. He can follow the movement of her arm as it slides between her legs. 

He hasn't touched himself yet and he feels like he's gonna come in his jeans. 

Her eyes close and she takes a deep breath, blowing it out. 

It takes her several minutes to really get herself going, but all at once he hears a soft sound escape. His eyes are glued and he palms himself through his pants. 

Her hips start moving, slowly rocking, and her arm is moving more vigorously too.

He unzips his pants. He has to get his cock out; it's drenching him in pre-come. 

She glances his direction at the sound of the zipper and her face is so flushed. She watches him tug his jeans down and pull his dick out. He strokes it lazily as she watches.

“Shit,” she whispers. 

He can see her other hand sliding over her chest. Her mouth opens, her thick eyelashes framing her half closed eyes. She stares at him. Not at his cock, or at his hand, at _him._ Right into his eyes.

He has to stop moving his hand or he's gonna come. He doesn't want to do that until she's gotten off. 

“Fuck it's hot in here,” she says abruptly, “aren't you hot?” She throws the blankets back. 

Her flannel shirt is still holding together by one precarious button. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly as she looks at him. She puts her hand between her legs again and her eyes close briefly. Her panties are still on, but she's got them pulled to the side. Her legs are bare though, all that exposed skin he could kiss and lick and tease...

He’s about to start sweating. “You have no idea,” he answers. 

Her eyes open, she seems to have forgotten that she asked him if he was hot.

“What's wrong?” She's looking at his hand. She must be wondering why he stopped.

“Nothing, I want to watch you.” 

She rolls her head away so he's looking at her profile. He can hear her breathing. She licks her lips.

He's suddenly overcome with a wave of courage. Or maybes it's not courage at all, maybe he's just so goddamn horny he's not thinking straight. Who knows, but it's probably the latter. 

He slides off the bed and walks around her. 

She sees him but she doesn't stop what she's doing. She's lost in her own pleasure.

He settles between her legs and watches her hand. She's using her middle finger; she switches between circling the little nub and rubbing back and forth over it. Every so often she dips her fingers down inside. 

He's mesmerized. This is nothing new to him, nothing groundbreaking obviously. He knows how to get a woman off and he's watched women do this before. But this, this is _her._ He can't even believe it. 

Her hips are rocking steadily. She's whimpering at times. She's getting close.

He reaches out and takes her hand. He sucks her fingers into his mouth and tastes with his tongue. He lets her hand go and rubs his palms up the outside of her thighs. He gently pulls at the waist of her panties and she raises up, letting him drag them off. 

He finally gets a look at the tattoo on her belly. He's been dreaming about that ink since that day he healed her and saw it peeking out of her jeans. It's an anti-possession symbol, the black ink tattooed in precise lines in her skin.

He tosses the panties aside and then lays between her legs.

“If you want me to stop, tell me.” He licks his middle finger and then places it on her clit, circling tightly around it. 

She sucks in a lungful of air and her hips rock. Her hands slide up and undo the one remaining button on the flannel, and then he's looking up her body as her hands knead her breasts and pinch her nipples. 

He thrusts his cock into the sheets looking for some friction; a little release for his own arousal, but it doesn't help. He doesn't care. 

Her head is arching back and she's restless, she can't stop moving. Her hands are clutching at the sheets and then back on her chest. She's almost whining now. 

She puts an arm across her face, covering her mouth. She's getting louder but trying desperately to be quiet. 

He changes from circles to the fast back and forth she was doing before and all at once he can see her muscles clenching, her thighs twitching with spasms. She muffles a yell into her arm. 

He watches, riding it out until he's sure she's done. He kisses her thighs while she gasps, trying to catch her breath. He nibbles and licks, his mouth sliding up and down the inside of each thigh. 

She calms slowly, her arms covering her face. 

He kisses closer and closer to her center, slowly working his way there. He breathes her in, the smell of her making him desperate to taste. He gently lowers his mouth, his tongue instantly sliding over her clit.

She rocks her hips up trying for more contact as she gasps.

“Oh Jesus, fuck, Gabe,” her hands are on his head, holding him in that spot.

Her hips never stop; she's writhing against his mouth. He slips two fingers just inside her and her back arches up off of the bed. 

He sees her pull the pillow out from under her head and she presses it to her face as she moans.

Within minutes she's coming again, clenching tightly around his fingers as she pushes herself against his tongue. She screams into the pillow. He thrusts into the bed again, wishing he was inside her to feel that.

He doesn't let up and she shifts her hips, finally throwing the pillow aside and yanking on his hair.

“You gotta stop, I'm too sensitive.” Her voice is raspy from screaming. She sounds like pure sex.

“Why'd you cover your face?” He climbs up the bed over her, stopping to press a kiss onto the tattoo on her lower belly. “I wanted to hear you.” 

“Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure the people in the rooms around us _don't_ want to hear me,” she slides her hands up his arms, a light ghost of a touch. 

He shivers. “I don't care,” he says as he lowers his face to kiss her. 

She turns her head away and rolls him, pushing one shoulder and flipping his weight. 

“Your turn,” she smiles down at him. 

He's still fully dressed, his pants just pushed down on his hips enough to let his dick out. 

She straddles his knees and tugs the pants down further as he watches. She smiles and meets his eyes as she lowers her mouth onto him. 

In all the times he’s imagined this he now knows he never did it justice. Her mouth sliding down on his cock is so warm and wet and tight. It’s better than anything he dreamed of. 

What really gets to him though seems silly. It's the feeling of her hair as it brushes over his thighs. It tickles a little, and it’s so soft when he runs his fingers through it. Softer than anything he’s ever felt. 

She moans as he looks down at her. He gathers her hair up in his hands so it doesn’t fall into her face. He won’t last long with her looking at him like that but he doesn’t care. 

She gags slightly when she works him into her throat and he holds very still even though he really wants to buck his hips up into her mouth. Her nose touches into the curls above his cock and she works her throat and swallows around him. 

He heaves in a breath, his eyes closing of their own volition. 

“I'm not--” he takes a shaking breath, “I'm gonna come soon.”

She starts using her mouth and hand together, and it’s tight, she’s sucking so hard. 

He can’t hold still any longer and he thrusts up as he groans. “Fuck, I can’t last--” his head falls back and his eyes squeeze tightly, and then he’s coming into her mouth. His hands are pulling in her hair and he can’t help it. It’s so good, it feels _so good._

He grace pulses, threatening to spill out, pushing the confines of his vessel. It ebbs, rolling through him like waves. 

She doesn’t stop until he raises up a little, and then her hand hits the top of his leg to anchor herself. She must have felt it, her face looks far off and her pupils are blown as wide as possible. 

“What the hell was that?” She finally asks. 

“My grace,” he says as he pulls her up beside him. 

He looks over her face, the high of getting off still making his brain a little slow. 

Something in her features changes at his answer. She looks somewhere between worried and scared. She tugs her shirt together over her chest, pulling on the fabric and looking down. 

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells her, his hand sliding around her waist. He moves closer, wanting to kiss her.

She stiffens at his touch and then it dawns on him. 

She didn’t want this. _He_ wanted this. He should have never moved off of the bed to touch her. 

He pulls his arm back. He wants to run away. He should run away. He _will_ run away as soon as he can figure out his escape. 

He feels exposed, and he’s sure she does too. He fucked this up. Which isn't surprising, when he thinks about his track record.

“Gabe, I hope you don’t think I planned this,” she says, looking somewhere over his shoulder. 

“No, why would I think that? I never thought you plan--”

“Wait, let me finish,” she meets his eyes, “I need to say this.”

She pauses and he swears he can see just a shimmer of tears in her eyes. So this is it then. This is the moment she'll cut him loose.

She holds eye contact when she starts talking again, which makes him restless. They don't look at each other for long. Ever. 

“I’ve thought about this a million times, us I mean. Us doing _this_. I’ve imagined it a million ways and I know it's wrong-- it's so wrong of me. I know I’ll burn in hell for that, I’m sorry--”

“ _What?_ ” He can’t quite wrap his mind around where this conversation is going. What is she saying- _she’s_ thought about this a million times? She’s going to hell?

“You’re an angel, this has to be some kind of cardinal sin, I know that. I mean-- having impure thoughts about an angel has to unlock some special level of hell I’m sure. And then there's the whole sex outside of marriage thing, which, whatever, if I'm going to hell for that it's not like you're the first--” Her eyes finally break away, staring down at his chest.

“Wait, hold on,” he puts his hand over her mouth, it’s the only way he knows how to keep her quiet while he thinks. “This is-- _What?_ I'm--” he shakes his head. “No, first off, this was not a sin. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re not going to hell, not for this, and not on my watch. Understand?”

He pulls his hand away from her mouth and gently tugs her chin up, making her meet his eyes.

She looks at him like she’s trying to make out if he’s telling her the truth. She finally nods very slightly. “Okay.”

“Second thing,” he wiggles his eyebrows at her, “so you’ve imagined it a million ways, huh?” He teases. He feels a little better when she smiles. “Tell me all of them.” 

“How much time you got, Feathers?” She asks, her eyes dancing.

“Well, sweetheart, I’m immortal so…”

She laughs, tilting her head back.

Sex, her laugh sounds like pure sex. He can’t resist. He places a soft kiss under her jaw, just a press of his lips to her skin. 

She sighs, her hand moving to rest on his face. He feels her relax.

He slides his hand under her shirt and around her back, and this time she doesn’t stiffen. She presses closer.

“Can I kiss you now? I really want to kiss you.” He rubs his thumb over her lips.

“Yes,” she whispers, but she doesn’t move. She lets him come to her, watching as his mouth moves slowly to meet hers. 

It's gentle at first, as they learn each other. Mouths finding a rhythm, opening, tongues touching and teasing. She bites his lip, just like he's imagined doing to her so many times. He growls.

She pulls back to smile.

“So this-- this really isn't a sin? 

“No, not even close.” 

“Good to know.”

“Yes, knowledge is power. We should learn about this as much as possible. I'd say we need a _thorough_ education.” He works his mouth under her chin again to kiss her neck. “So tell me, when was the first time you thought about it? 

“Hmm, good question. I don't know, I thought you were a dick at first--” 

He raises his head to meet her eyes and she cuts herself off.

“Come on, don't deny it. You were a dick sometimes.” 

He half smiles but doesn't respond, instead he drops his mouth to her neck again. 

“So what about you, when did you first imagine it?” Her hands are teasing in the hair at the back of his neck.

“Probably about the time you held a knife at my neck.”

Her hands are moving over his arms now, down his back, then in his hair again. Her touch is so good, her hands gentle on his skin. 

“The first time we met?” She can't hide the surprise in her voice.

“That would be the day.”

“Well then what the hell took you so long?”

He kisses her again before he answers, long and leisurely. “Never got the impression that you were interested. And something about you seems to fry my brain; I can't work my natural charm.” His hands are roaming low on her back, massaging right at the top of that perfect ass. 

“Natural charm, huh? And what does that consist of?”

“Oh, you know, snark and sarcasm and just being downright delightful.”

“Delightful. Right.” She kisses him now. “So I fry your brain?”

“The saying fits. I don't think clearly around you, although I'm having some sudden clarity right now.”

“Do you even have a brain?”

“Technically? No.”

More kissing, and she nips his lip again, making him crazy

“I wanted to take my time here, but you keep that up and we'll have to speed things along.” 

Her laugh is throaty and low. “Yeah, well, I hate to tell you this- Mmmm…” She moans when he traces her collarbone with his teeth and his tongue. “Damn, Gabe, your mouth and hands… you're working some magic, don't get me wrong, but I'm starving.” 

He groans in protest before untangling from her and standing to tucking himself away.

“Fine, I'll snap up whatever you want because you're gonna need your strength later. But don't plan on leaving this hotel room for at least a week. Minimum.”

Her smile is wicked. “I was hoping you'd say that,” she winks at him from the bed.


	9. Chapter 9

He's relaxing on the bed with his feet kicked up; popping M&M’s into his mouth. Balki Bartokomous is talking to his cousin exasperated Larry about something, but Gabriel isn't paying much attention. 

He can hear the shower running and he's imagining her in there, naked, slick with soap. The water sluicing over her hot skin, it's tempting to interrupt her and hop in. He won't though, not tonight. She's tired he can tell when she needs a little time to decompress after a hunt. When she's ready she'll come to him, and he'll take his time kissing all her sore muscles. 

Sometimes he's still shocked at how things are now. How he can touch her whenever he wants. That she touches him just as much. It doesn't seem possible, her sleeping pressed up to him while he watches crappy old movies at night. Or that she initiates sex more than he does, straddling him as he sits in a chair and grinding until he's so desperate to be inside her he's actually begging.

They can being doing something completely innocent, like studying maps on a table and planning a hunt. He'll lean over her to look at something, this is totally innocent on his part, _obviously._ Then she presses her ass into his crotch. Before you know it hands start roaming, gripping, pulling, and then she's bent over in front of him, the sound of paper ripping and her moaning filling his ears as he holds her hips from behind and fucks her hard.

Last night they'd been in a bar, cozily tucked in a corner booth. Her hand sneaking up his inner thigh was driving him crazy.

“Better cut that out, cupcake. We might not make it back to the room if you don't,” he'd whispered, his fingers tracing up the center seam of her jeans.

“What if we don't? What if we find someplace in the back, just barely out of sight…” Her teeth had tugged on his ear, her hand massaging the growing bulge in his pants. 

“Well now, that almost sounds like you want to be caught.”

“Shut up.” Her eyes had danced with laughter as she looked at him. “You scared?”

“I'm a little scared I'll be so turned on that I'll get off in three seconds.”

She'd pushed him out of my booth while she tried to hold back her laughter.

And so he'd led her into a stockroom, leaving the door cracked. He held her against a wall, his hands supporting her hips while her heels dug into his back. He’d driven into her, relishing how turned on she was by hearing people outside the door. He’d used his grace, making sure no one actually walked in on them, but she didn’t know that. 

She came hard on his cock, trying desperately not to scream his name.

“Have we discovered a new kink?” he’d chuckled into her neck.

She’d smiled and rolled her eyes. “You wish,” and then she’d tucked her face into his neck and whispered to him. “Maybe.”

He craves her like a drug. He never really stops wanting her even when they're finished, gasping and out of breath and fucked out. He still wants more of her. Always more. 

Sometimes he's convinced that he's the crazy one. That he's made her up, she's imaginary, just something he wants but he'll never find. Maybe he's finally lost it completely and this whole _world_ only exists in his head. He worries that might be true, that he might wake up some day and have to face reality. Deep down though, deep down he's knows it's real. _She's_ real.

He hears the click of the bathroom door and looks away from the TV. She's done with her shower and walks out without a stitch on. She climbs on the bed as he watches her, neither of them saying a word. 

She undresses him slowly, taking her time with buttons and zippers. He lets her go at her own pace, only moving to help her get his shirt off or tug the pants over his feet. She kisses him, her lips swollen and pink. 

She pulls his hands up, making him cup her breasts. That's all the signal he needs and his hands are all over her soft skin, in her wet hair, sliding between her legs making her grab his arm and gasp. 

She pulls the pillows out from under his head and climbs up to sit on his face, her hands on the wall to support herself.

He locks his mouth onto her and tastes. She tastes good, perfect, salty and sweet. It makes his cock ache. He wraps his hand around himself, leaking all over his stomach. 

She takes what she wants, makes sure she's satisfied, and that turns him on more than anything. He loves that she knows her body. That she asks for what she wants and what she likes. He likes that she chases her own pleasure as much as she does his. 

He works his tongue on her clit. Circling and flicking and making her crazy. Her thighs are quivering against his face. She's close.

Her nails scrape the wall as she rocks on his mouth. One hand moves down to twist in his hair and the other covers her mouth as she comes. She tries to strangle her cries as best she can.

She slides back to lay over him and he rolls them, putting himself on top. As much as she takes she loves to give just as much. He knows she wanted him in her mouth but he doesn't have the patience for that now. He's needy and desperate and he wants to drive into her until he's satisfied. 

He slots himself between her legs and then pulls her knees higher, teasing her with the head of his cock. Her breath hitches when he lowers his mouth onto her nipple. He knows what she likes and he uses it, taking her apart one piece at a time.

He eases into her, slow and gentle, watching her eyes flutter closed. “Oh fuck, you're so wet.” She's sopping, probably dripping. Just when he thinks he can't get more turned on, there it is. His cock actually got _harder_. It shouldn't be possible.

“Gabe,” she breathes.

He moves his mouth to her ear. “How do you want it?” 

Her head turns toward him slightly; he can feel the heat of her breath as she whispers. “Slow, fuck me, slow.” 

That's what she wants and lord knows he'll do anything she asks.

Her hand is between her legs. Her fingers sliding back and forth over her clit. “Yeah, just like that, don't stop,” she whispers, her other hand fisting in the hair at the back of his neck. 

He moves slow, torturously slow. His forearms frame her face, caging her in. He kisses her temple, watching her.

She's panting, her fingers going faster and faster. Her face almost looks like she's in pain, her brows drawing together. The sounds she's making though, those aren't even close to pain. 

She moves to cover her face with her other arm but he won't let her. He holds her hand down.

“I want to hear you.” He rarely gets to hear her. Not unless they're alone. Completely alone, in the middle of nowhere tangled up in the back of her truck like teenagers.

She thinks she's too loud. It embarrasses her and she's rarely embarrassed. She says she can't control it. He doesn't care. Those sounds, the feel of her, the way she moves with him as they find a rhythm. There's nothing he loves more than that.

She's about to come. Her breath is coming in short, stuttering gasps. Her back is arching into him. She raises her head, tucking her face into his neck as she moans and clutches him. 

He cradles the back of her head in his hand, supporting it while she tightens around him. He has to close his eyes, it feels so incredibly good. He has to hold his grace tight so it doesn’t escape.

“Fuck, GABE- OH FUCK!” she yells.

He doesn't stop. Even when her hand pulls out from between her legs and he knows she's done. He keeps fucking her, slow and easy while she catches her breath.

There's a pounding on the wall. “KEEP IT DOWN!”

It's Dean. 

They both ignore it.

He moves faster, his hips thrusting into her a little harder each time as he chases his own release.

She's moaning again. Her hands on his back, his hips, squeezing his ass as he ruts into her like an animal.

“I think I'm gonna come again,” she groans, her body rocking under his. She's feeling his grace, he can see it in the look of her eyes. She tells him it feels soothing and warm, kind of like electricity washing over her skin as it tingles. She says it leaves her with a sense of euphoria for a while.

He's slamming into her now, he's almost there. He can't keep himself quiet, it feels too good and he's too close. He can feel it pooling in his belly.

“Fuck,” he bites out through gritted teeth, “you feel so good-- come for me, I'm coming--”

It rips through him, his hips moving on instinct as he buries his face and grunts. His grace rears up and almost flares but he catches it in time. It still rolls through him and over her like a wave.

And then she's coming again. “Gabe! _Yes! Oh fuck - YES!”_ she screams. 

He rides it out, slowing as she tries to catch her breath. He rests, focusing on the feel of her hands lying on the back of his neck as he comes down.

There's pounding on the wall again. ”COME ON, YOU TWO! It's two men and an angel over here! This is torture!”

She finally laughs, her voice almost gone. He laughs too, his arms sliding under her to hold her close.

In all the lusting and dreaming he did for her he never imagined how much better it would actually be when they finally came together. When they both gave up fighting it and just let it happen. It's not something he can even put into words. 

He slides to the side and pulls her against him, inhaling her wet hair.

“You ever gonna let me see them?”

He knows what she’s asking. She’s asked him several times now. His wings, she wants to see his wings. 

“Maybe,” he kisses the back of her neck, “why do you wanna see a pair of overgrown chicken wings anyway? 

She sighs and relaxes, her body soft and pressed flush to his chest. She's teetering on the edge of sleep and she waits so long to answer that he thinks she's drifted off. 

“Because they're you, Gabe. I want to see _you_.” 

Angels aren't supposed to feel like this. They're not equipped to process the amount of emotions she puts him through. When she says things like that it makes him feel like he's falling apart, like he's lost.

But somehow she's always there to put him back together and guide him out. 

He’s never shown a human his wings, but if he does he knows it’ll be her. 

She's asleep now, resting in his arms. 

“Probably, sweetheart,” he whispers to her, “I imagine someday I will.”

It's indescribable, this feeling. _She's_ indescribable, and he's never letting her go.


End file.
